Sorry for no posts for a while. Busy weekend, as I'll mention in just a bit.

I was looking today at some nice articles on being a better web writer, this one being both concise and helpful, thanks to a link through Mr Froyd. It made me think a bit about what I am and am not doing well as a weblogger.

I did intend this blog to help me practice my writing skills, since I don't have any other regular reason to write, at least not with any consistency. I don't see myself writing a novel, at least not anytime soon. I think I might like to submit something to the Piano Technicians Journal on ethics and the practice of the piano business, but I think I'd better learn something about business practices in my industry first. In that regard, now that I mention it, I'd love to hear any juicy stories from y'all about your experiences with piano tuners, either good or bad.

But back to my weekend, since I'm sure you are longing to know all the details of my life. I did some work on Friday morning. Oddly, the customer who scheduled that appointment asked me, "hmm, so you work on Good Friday?" Well, yeah, YOU requested that time. Not a big deal. Very nice customer too--played me a couple of his favorite Philipino melodies when I finished up.

Had about 45 minutes to read before meeting my wife at the noon service at CGS. During the scripture readings I was thinking to myself, "This would be a good day to go see The Passion again with Lenise (who had not yet seen it)." So after the service she agreed. We went to SouthPoint ("Mall of Doom" tm") and got some lunch and baby shopping done before the matinee. Maybe you can bug her for her own comments on the film, but it struck me even more powerfully than the first time I saw it. Also noticed some nice details like the sweat like drops of blood in Gethsemane. Just speaking for myself, this movie really makes me think about how much we keep inside our little term "gospel". I won't rehash all I've said already, but I thought Gibson did a great job showing why Jesus ended up crucified and how those events were perceived by the participants. I also woudn't even want to see a more "accurate" depiction. The story of the passion is an awful and bloody and miserable story.

Saturday we did some more shopping and Lenise made a dessert for Easter. It turned out great, despite her protestations that it was ruined. It was a chocolate truffle cake with lots of whipped cream in it. The mixture didn't come out as consistently as the recipe would have indicated, but it tasted great. We were both reflecting on the fact that we had not really come to terms with how much we relied on one cookbook, made clear since we loaned it out to our Russian friends.

Easter morning was a wild rush. The mad Wesleyans at the church accross the street decided to hold a sunrise service without so much as consulting us first. Lenise said her first thought of the morning was "why are these hoodlums playing a piano so early in the morning." Then it was off to pick up a friend on the way to an early choir practice. I hadn't practiced our Easter music yet, so it was pretty necessary for me, plus we were short in the tenor department. Music turned out great though, mostly due to our great trumpet players drowning out our singing. Unfortunately I ended up being a little too sleepy during the sermon to truly appreciate it. It's too bad. Our pastor is, IMHO, one of the great orators in our nation and was finally finishing up a series on Matthew which has taken a number of years to get through.

Pretty much the rest of the day was spent at the Nelson's. We had lamb (what could possibly be better for Easter?) and ham and plenty of other goodies. The Nelson girls kept us entertained throughout. They just keep getting cuter. We ended our time there watching Shrek, which has apparently become a favorite of the girls. The penultimate Nelson girl (age 3?) has been overheard singing "I like big butts . . ." from the film. I was able to introduce them to the adventures of Seinfeld and Superman. The Wyoming song quickly became popular as well.